Thursday, August 15, 2013

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 83

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. Wow, where did half the year go? It's Thursday
again, so what should you be doing? Writing
#FlashFiction,
that's what! Welcome to Week 83 of #ThursThreads, the
challenge that ties tales together. Need the rules? Read on!

Here's how it works:

The prompt is a line from the previous week's winning tale.

The prompt can appear ANYWHERE in your story and is included in your word count.

Rules to the Game:

This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.

Incorporate the prompt anywhere into your story (included in your word count).

Post your story in the comments section of this post

Include your word count (or be excluded from judging)

Include your Twitter handle or email (so we know how to find you)

The challenge is open 7 AM to 7 PM Pacific Time

The winner will be announced on Friday, depending on how early the judge gets up.

How it benefits you:

You get a nifty cool badge to display on your blog or site (because we're all about promotion - you know you are!)

32 comments:

"Down Town in the Valleys"by Dr. Mike Reddy (@doctormikereddy)[250 words]

It was a typical Saturday night in a post-Industrial Welsh town. Some twoccing. Drive to some more trusting neighbourhood. Choose an Offy that didn't look too secure. Park this week's joyfully donated vehicle in a quiet side street. Then in and out with a quick swipe of alcohol - whatever was nearest the shop door - and run like Hell back to the car. Then a safe spot to get plastered. Random!

Cigarettes were usually harder to steal, because they were often behind the counter. So. we'd send Billy the Kid - so called because he had a 'butter wouldn't melt in his mouth' face - in to buy some fags first, and to suss out the place. There was a risk he'd get IDed, but he was too lard brained to really get that. Twp 'ead.

So, Billy had come back with a few packs of Marlboros, and Rizzlas and Golden Virginia for Tony, who liked to roll his own 'special blend'. We'd had the all clear. Mostly cider, which was shit but it was accessible and a few large bottles would be sufficient for our needs. We'd rolled the place speedily - something of a record in fact - and legged it. Even when the car didn't we hadn't panicked. Tony's special blend kept us too mellow for that. Then we were off, screaming through the streets and into the secluded hills.

We laughed our skulls hollow. What a storming night! Only I started thinking did we really have to do it again?

---fin

Author's notes for those not familiar with UK colloquialisms:

twoccing is derived from Taking Without Concent (TWOC)Offy = Off Licence or Liquor Store, usually selling tobacco products as wellRandom is the word for cool/wicked/bad/etcTwp = Welsh for stupid'joyfully donated' is a play on joyriding, a euphemism for the stealing of cars by young people.

"Cram it, plunger-fuck. I don't need your half-assed help." True, the door was wedged tight from the humidity, but we were on a mission. There was an oncoming storm, and we had to be ready. Break in and out with a quick swipe of alcohol, and we'd be hoopy froods on that Ol' Janx Spirit and hunkered down when the weather tried to annihilate us.

My companion did not look impressed, and twiddled his favorite toy suggestively, gesturing as if to help.

"You keep saying it's no good on wood, so, unless you're going to use that as a sonic fucking crowbar, maybe you could go do something useful, like fill that fucking clown car police box of yours with pretzels."

"Come on it'll be painless!" "No, No and how many more times no!"“In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol.” Lily sighed sometimes her beloved could be a real baby! They'd been married for twenty years and she knew just what he could 'deal with'! "Look, people do this all the time, I'll go first if you like and show you. "

Fred sighed. He knew after everything Lily wouldn't let up. Not that he could moan in particular as he had asked for her support! "Ok Lil, I will if you go first!"

Lily quick as a flash took their tickets from the machine and made for the waiting room, dragging Fred behind her. Once the forms were in and they were settled Fred knew it was actually about to occur begun to quiet his nerves. He started thinking back and questioning how all this came about.

"Me and my big mouth" thought Fred. "that's what started it all, I just had to start the challenge and now my mouth is as dry as sandpaper! Each month has been a harder challenge to achieve, and me with a fear of needles!" He let out a sigh but remained resolute. "I'll do this because, well it's a good cause but that's it. I won't set Tim another one and we'll put a stop to this nonsense!"

Fred came to with a jolt. There was Lily, rolling her sleeve back down, smiling at him encouragingly. It was time to give blood!

Former Corporal Andrew James sat on the ground, leaning against the cinder blocks holding the single wide trailer up. He raised a nearly empty bottle of Southern Comfort to his mouth, and took a long chug. As he let the bottle fall, he whispered, “To you guys.”

Andrew staggered to his feet, “No, no. I don’t need help to get up.” Swaying as he stood, he put an arm around the shoulders of Corporal Timothy Simmons. “Right, Tim?” He looked Timothy in the eyes, “Tell ‘em. Tell ‘em I’m OK.”

No one answered. Except in Andrew’s mind. I knew he’d get through the bottle, pass out on the ground, and wake up with a hell of a headache tomorrow. But he’d be OK. All he needed was time. And friends. And to keep taking his meds, and talking with his doc.

It was one year since the IED went off. Since half of Timothy’s head ceased to exist. Since Arthur’s neck got snapped by the shock wave from the explosion. Since Timothy lost his right leg from the knee down.

He’d wanted to celebrate. “An anniversary! We’ll make a quick stop at the ABC store. In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol.” I’d let him. I’d know what would happen. But I knew he was still mourning. I knew he needed the release. I’d take care of him. We were Army brothers.

I found him standing in the foyer, keys in hand, when I arrived home. He was in and out with a quick swipe of alcohol laden lips, then mumbled something about “downtown” and “searching for his muse.” I watched him shuffle down the stairs and waited until I heard outer door lock before heading inside.

The scent of whiskey lingered where he had been and made my skin feel sticky.

There was a time when I believed he was the one. Or maybe I just wanted him to be, imagined he could be. Deep down, I knew he would never commit. He had given me the ring, but it would never go any further than that.

My mother’s nagging voice rang in my ears as I kicked off my shoes. “Never marry a writer. He’ll only drink himself to death and leave you with nothing but the broken promise of the world’s next best-seller…just like your father.”

But she never warned me how intoxicating it all would be. How the threads of his carefully woven work would wrap around and through me. And that in those bittersweet, early morning hours, after a second bottle had finally driven him from the madness of creativity into exhausted oblivion, that characters of my own making would whisper in my ear to keep me company.

I settled into the chair behind the desk and laid my fingers on the keyboard. He was out in search of his story. Mine had found me.

“In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol.”“Yes, right what so you think I am stupid?”“You need this needle, Michelle,”“Will it make me well?”“No, nothing will make you well. Michelle, I can only do so much. I wish I could do more but until I find a cure,” Doctor Geordie Mac Tíre.“I just want to go back in time and make this all go away.”“Impossible, what you can’t change you must accept.”“What are you a member of Alcoholics Anonymous?”“I know you’re angry Michelle, but it will get better. Now let me give you the shot.”“Why?”“You’re pregnant Michelle. We have to protect the child.”“Now a child has been brought into this?”“I know it’s a lot to take in, but the child is innocent. You have to protect it.”“I could decide to end it,”“It’s too late, Michelle.”“I didn’t mean it anyway. Go ahead give me the needle.”Geordie’s needle pierced my skin.“Everything will be okay Michelle you’ll wake up tomorrow and nothing will have changed.”“Right everything the status quo except I’m pregnant.”“Wolfgang will be okay.” “Wolfgang? It’s a boy and you called him Wolfgang?”“What else would you call a werewolf who needs to hide in plain sight?”“Traveling Wolf Wolf you know that’s what his name means.” “Yes, but they can’t say we didn’t tell them.”“Too funny. I love you Geordie Mac Tíre.”“I love you too Michelle Mac Tíre. Goodnight.”250 words@SweetSheil

“Will it hurt?” Kimryn asked, with tears dripping down her face and between her lips.

“Not too much. It’s quick as a hiccup.” Tony said compassionately.

“Why?”

“Because, they’re In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol, with the injection in between.”

Kimryn shook her head. “No. I mean why can’t it hurt MORE. They need to make him bleed… like he made Mommy bleed. I want to see him scream... like Mommy.”

Kimryn bolted onto her feet and screamed at the murderer strapped down and hooked up behind the glass. “I want to see your face when you die. I want you to suffer!”

Tony raised his hand as an apologetic gesture to the others in the room as he struggled to quietly get the ten year old back into her chair. “You cannot do that again. They’ll send us out of the room until it’s over. Is that what you want?”

Kimryn watched and waited for the instant the buttons were all pushed at once, and then she ran to the glass and beat on it hard until her mother’s killer lifted his head to see what was happening.

With all clarity and a dry face, Kimryn held the middle finger on each of her hands above her head until the man died.

Kimryn turned to face her father and asked with a cheery smile, “Can we stop for ice cream on the way home? Mommy liked vanilla swirl, so I think that’s what I’ll have today.”

Sometimes, ya just gotta do what ya just gotta do. And what I gotta do is survive. The streets are mean and they don’t give a shit what you’re feelin’. When you’re out here, it’s all about you: if you can’t take care of yourself, no one else is gonna do it for ya.

I’m waiting until just after midnight, when the lock clicks for the last time on the door to 66th Street Liquors. I haven’t had a drink in 12 hours and I’m shaking and sweating with withdrawals. I can feel that burn when the whiskey slides down. I can smell the sweet aroma of a top name beer. Mix it with a little dust or a little weed or maybe a shot of heroine and life is good.

I’m stealthy enough that I won’t get caught and there are no security cameras at this store. I’m waiting out back, hidden behind a stack of pallets. A shot of courage into my veins, a sniff of it up my nose, rub a little on my gums. Then the door opens, and the clerk looks around; we make eye contact. I tense, my hand already in a fist.

“Who’s there?”

I leap out of my hiding spot and punch her in the face. I pick the lock and clear the coolers with lightning speed. Then, I’m gone, in and out with a quick swipe of alcohol.

The doctor grinned as the needle plunged into Rory’s upper arm causing him to clench his fists until his knuckles whitened. Rory waited for heavy eyes, a numbness to consume him but he was still alert watching every movement the doctor made; if he was a doctor; forced to take a drug he didn’t need, kept isolated and limited on food and drink. He was a prisoner but didn’t know why. One minute he was drinking in a bar, the next he woke up in what could only be described as a cell.

“Now for the final stage,” the doctor said as lay down a tray. Out of the corner of his eye, Rory saw something move. “This won’t hurt for long, in and out then a quick swipe of alcohol. You can have a swig for good measure.”Using tweezers; he picked up a bug like creature no bigger than a thumb nail.

Ariel gripped the leash tighter, his fae strength tested by the furry fury attempting to twist free. A muzzle kept Caleb from biting but didn’t silence his angry growls and whines.

The veterinarian returned with a large syringe and a small glass ampule.

Caleb’s scrabbling paws and growls turned frantic.

“Easy, boy,” the vet soothed as he eyed the huge animal with some distrust. “I have to admit he’s the biggest Siberian Husky I’ve ever seen.”

Ari smiled and pushed his magic gently toward the doctor. “He probably has some wolf in his DNA somewhere.” He watched the human vet prepare the injection while doing his utmost to hide the smile threatening to flood the room with glee.

“Will the rabies shot hurt him?”

The vet shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol.” The man grabbed a fold of Caleb’s fur and was about to slide the needle in when the door banged open.

“What the fuck?” One very angry FBI agent stood in the door, hand on her weapon, her green eyes glittering like shards of broken glass under the noon sun. “Back away, Doctor.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“That’s not a dog, Doctor.”

He looked confused. “Of course it’s a dog.”

“No sir. That’s one very pissed off werewolf.” Sade glared at the fae. “Ari, you are such a jerk. Soon as the fairy dust wears off, you’re all Caleb’s.”

Ariel gulped. “Do I get a head start?”

250 words@SilverJames_

Ahhh, these two always keep me entertained and Sade ready to kill them both. ;)

He answered himself: One submitted the best photograph of oneself next to a dead raghead. Ideally, an insurgent. (This qualifier produced laughter from the Wreck Room.)

Each bastard would be limited to one and only one photograph, submitted weekly. Each bastard had better make it count. Special consideration would be given to any bastard who could also prove, with a clear, pornographic, unphotoshopped image, that he had recently left what was man of him within the mouth of a living female relative of the deceased insurgent. The key words were “living” and "within," Mazzoni insisted.

All the men in the Wreck Room whooped.

Such a photo, Mazzoni announced, could serve as a tiebreaker if that was necessary.

"Dammit, disinfect these raghead women before you do the deed," Mazzoni warned. "Make them take a swig of tequila. Rub the tequila on your private part, too. And then score your goal fast. In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol."

The loudest cheer of the night went up.

That sound echoed into the eardrum of Ibrahim, a hillside occupant located less than two hundred yards away, who had been chosen for this assignment because he spoke English.

Ibrahim pulled out a carbine from a sack of coarse cloth. He took aim at what seemed to be an open window. He pointed his carbine at a man who seemed to be the source of the cheers.

Sweet, tickling pleasure hit John’s brain as she reached his groin, caressing his flaccid penis until the blood damn near left his head without coherence. If he could have closed his eyes and moaned, he would have let her know the pleasure she gave. It might not have been professional, but he’d never been one to shy away from a role in a mission. Right now he played the sex slave and she needed a hard-on. Normally he could do that in his sleep, but the drugs messed with most of his abilities.

He’d never prayed to get a hard-on.

“Ah, see, I knew you had strength and virility when I first saw you, John.” Lindsey stroked his filling shaft with one hand and slid the other up his belly. “All this hair. Ummm. So sexy and masculine. My poor husband never measured up to this.”

She tilted her head as her hand dropped to roll his balls in her fingers. “He was all about the in and out with a quick swipe of alcohol to give him courage. I bet you’ve never been quick about that or needed the drink to get you going.”

Damn, this woman might be the first to make him blow his load way too quick. She embodied sexy and sultry better than anyone he’d ever met and being a SEAL, women had never been scarce.

Marella spun the glass top around, watching as the colored inside spin counter clockwise before it slowed to a spot and pointed towards the black door. Her lips pursed as she spun around in the seat.

“Are you kidding? That’s just asking for trouble, and you know it.” Berke scowled at her. “And you need to stop following where that top goes. It always gets you into trouble.”

“Yeah, but that’s where the fun starts.” She hopped up from her seat. “Don’t wait up, Mommy. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“I’m teling you…”

Marella rolled her eyes. “In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol. That’s all.”

“It’s never that simple.”

She scooped up the top and slipped it into her pocket before grinning at her friend as her hand landed on the obsidian door knob. “I’ll be back.” Before he said anything else, the door was opened and she slipped through.+ + +Marella let out a slow breath as the darkness pressed down, the starless sky a blanket to blind the eyes. A deep breath out as her eyes adjusted and she could see the skeletal trees surrounding the black walls of the key in front of her.

Her lips twitched upwards as she looked around, heading towards it. A simple key was all she need and the finest brandy that the demons made.

A heavy weight slammed into her back. “Not so fast, princess.” The deep voice purred in her ear.

The wrecked smoldering ruins of the village lay before them like a picked over carcass. It smelled of extinguished life more than any natural fire. This was the third such village they’d encountered in a week. Peter wrung his soft hands in a deliberate effort not to pull out any more of his thinning hair. Any idiot could read the signs now.

“Not too many bodies,” Craig called. “I think most of them were able to get out in time.”

Peter’s plate-mailed friend kicked over what had once been a wagon. Or perhaps a carriage. Nodding, the pale priest continued wringing his hands.

“Yes… I think, we’d better hurry. No time to stop here. The most good we can do is to reach the cavern as soon as possible and hope that one of the candidates we sent for is suitable for the task at hand.”

About Me

Siobhan Muir lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming, with her husband, two
daughters, and a vegetarian cat she swears is a shape-shifter, though he's
never shifted when she can see him.

Siobhan writes kick-ass adventure with hot sex for men and women
to enjoy. She believes in happily ever after, redemption, and communication,
all of which you will find in her paranormal romance stories.